After the Battle
by hiddenhibernian
Summary: Hermione knows there's a bright future waiting for them beyond the rubble of Hogwarts, she just can't figure out how to get there.
1. Straws in the Wind

**Thanks very much to blueartemis07, my lovely beta – any remaining mistakes are my own.**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

 **Straws in the Wind**

 **-oOo-**

Everyone seemed to think Neville was in love with Ginny. The only thing they disagreed on was whether he didn't say anything because he knew he'd never stand a chance against Harry, or if he stayed silent because she was his friend's girlfriend.

Both sides were right in a way, despite being completely wrong.

Neville knew very well that Ginny saw him in the same light as her brothers. In fairness, she probably even preferred him to Percy, even after Percy had finally come to his senses during the Battle of Hogwarts. In Ginny's eyes Harry was a hero, had always been, and plain old Neville would never be able to compete with that.

Sometimes it made Neville a little uneasy about his friends' relationship; it was always about Harry, not Ginny, but it was none of his business and he did his best to keep out of it.

It was true that Neville didn't have much time for people who didn't stick with their partner, either, and he certainly wouldn't consider making a pass for someone who already was in a relationship.

Thankfully, not many people knew the person Neville would have given his wand arm and a few spare limbs to be (you didn't really _need_ toes, did you?) wasn't Harry. It was Ron.

Seeing Hermione again, in the Room of Requirement just before the battle, had been like seeing a stranger – she'd been paler and thinner that he'd ever seen her, and her eyes had the same look as he'd seen in his fellow DA members. They'd seen too much, and while Hermione Granger wouldn't deviate from her set course she wasn't the same person who'd left Hogwarts after sixth year.

Then she'd smiled, and he'd seen the girl he remembered in the woman she had turned into. It was the woman he'd fallen in love with: the new Hermione who was willing to admit she was wrong once in a while and who carried her scars like they didn't matter.

It worried him that Ron didn't see who she'd become, only who she once had been. Despite his losses, Ron seemed to think that everything should return to normal. Maybe the amount of time that had passed since their lives had been even vaguely normal explained why he seemed to be so angry all the time. Ron usually went for the more straightforward option when he was confused.

It was only a few weeks after the battle, but Neville felt like he'd aged several years since then. Before, he'd put all his strength into carrying on, and it was only when it finally was over it dawned on him how much of an effort it had been just to keep going.

He could see it in the others, too: Ernie seemed to have deflated and barely replied when you spoke to him these days. Seamus talked too much and joked like he always had, but it seemed mechanical, like his heart wasn't in it. Most people wouldn't have noticed anything different about Luna, but Neville thought she'd lost something at Malfoy Manor. She rarely spoke about creatures no one else could see (they could all see the Thestrals now), and she didn't smile very often.

The rubble of Hogwarts wasn't conducive to smiles, he'd admit that, but most of them managed a token grin when Seamus said something vaguely funny in that too-loud new voice of his.

Afterwards, he realised that the signs had been everywhere; he'd just been too distracted to notice.

* * *

"Just because you can do it, doesn't mean you should!" Hermione's voice was so shrill it would have rattled the windowpanes in the greenhouse, had any been spared during the battle.

"You heard Kingsley, he says we don't need to sit any exams! Why would I, when I've done ten times as much as most Aurors ever do before I'm even out of Hogwarts-" Ron said, and Neville could tell he was close to losing his rag.

"I thought you said it made you sound a cooler than you really were." Hermione took a deep breath. "Ron, half of the time we'd no idea what we were doing-" It was the sort of argument where no one allowed the other one to finish their sentences, and Neville cast a quick cushioning charm to protect the surviving Flutterby bushes.

"And we survived! We did it – well, Harry did it – but there's still Death Eaters out there. Is it really so hard to understand why I want to go after them?"

"No, I guess it isn't," Hermione said more quietly and Neville thought again about leaving the greenhouse. He didn't want to eavesdrop, but all the little portents he'd spent the last month ignoring said there was a storm coming. Magic could run wild around frayed tempers, and neither Ron nor Hermione were known for restraint once they got going. He decided to stay, and continued painstakingly fishing the shards of glass out of the flowerbeds by hand while trying not to listen.

"Well, then. I don't understand why you're making such a fuss about it, when even Mum thinks I should join."

"Your mum is so relieved you survived she'd be happy for you to take up accountancy, never mind becoming an Auror."

"Why aren't you? You know I always wanted to become an Auror-"

"Did you, Ron? I thought that was Harry, not you. As far as I remember, you were going to become a professional Quidditch player."

"That was three years ago-"

"Two," Hermione cut in.

" – and a lot of things have happened since then," Ron continued.

"Exactly! And in another four or five years you might want something else. All I'm saying is that you should keep your options open-" The rest of Hermione's plea went unheard.

"By going back to Hogwarts." There was a splintering noise, as if Ron had kicked something over. Probably the bucket with the glass shards Neville had collected, one by one, from the little pond yesterday. "As a student. When I've already proved I know more than most of teachers-"

"Do you, Ron?" Hermione asked, and Neville could tell she was annoyed. "The last time I checked, you didn't even know the Five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, never mind being able to heal people – "

"I knew about the food, didn't I?" Ron answered belligerently. "And – and dead people, and – " It was clear no recital of the other four principles was forthcoming.

"Even if you did, that's not the only reason to go back." Hermione cut his stuttering short. "If you want to have a normal life, you'll have to start now. You can't sail into the Aurory on – on your wartime record alone and expect for it not to matter in the future."

Neville closed his eyes in gratitude that Hermione had skirted around mentioning Harry just then – he didn't know if he'd have been able to duck quickly enough if she had. Ron was still Ron, in all too many ways.

"So you're back to telling me what to do. That's nice. Just what a bloke wants in a girlfriend."

"You did know me for seven years before we got together," Hermione pointed out, and Neville thought he could finally get away. If they could joke about it –

"Yes, and I should have known you'd still be the same, despite everything that's happened. 'Don't break the rules, Ron'," Ron said in falsetto. "'Check the library'. I'm sure there's a book somewhere saying you have to go back to school after defeating a Master of Evil."

"Never mind, then. Do whatever you want, and don't listen to people who are just trying to look out for you," Hermione said and Neville admired her restraint. She'd been right most of the time before, after all.

"Fine," Ron huffed.

"Fine," Hermione repeated.

Neville knew very well it wasn't, even though he'd never had a proper girlfriend. It seemed like things had settled down for the moment, however, so he quietly sneaked out through the broken windowpanes at the back.

Neville couldn't make up his mind whether he should be hoping that they'd break up or stay together. It had always been Ron for Hermione, no matter what, and she was the smartest witch Neville had ever known. It was just that Ron so often failed to live up to what she must see in him, to what he could be if he tried. If only Neville could have been certain Ron would make Hermione happy, he would have found it in himself to wish them joy and forget about her – as much as he could forget about one of his oldest friends.

Instead, he worried.

* * *

The worst thing about staying at The Burrow was the lack of privacy. Silencing Charms helped somewhat, but you still had to face people three times a day at meals and every time you ventured to the bathroom. Mrs Weasley had banned inside Apparition shortly after Fred and George got their licenses, and it wasn't worth upsetting her over something so petty.

Hermione slept on a fold-out bed in Ginny's room, with all her belongings in a small suitcase. Her beaded bag was still there, along with an assortment of Muggle toiletries following a supermarket run and clothes from various sources. She kept her books shrunk inside the beaded bag; there wasn't much free space in Ginny's room, even when Ginny was the only person staying there.

They'd shared a room before; being the only girls in a house full of boys had pushed them together even when they'd had nothing else in common. They'd become proper friends since then. In some ways, it used to be easier to get along with Ginny than Ron – Ginny knew exactly what she wanted and didn't care much what other people thought, traits Hermione thought she could do worse than emulating.

Ginny hadn't forgotten that Hermione had gone off hunting Horcruxes with her brother and boyfriend, leaving her behind, and losing her other brother didn't make things easier. They were speaking to each other, but not about anything personal: the desultory conversation before turning off the lights at night centred around who had survived the battle and who hadn't, and what was happening to clear up the mess Voldemort had left behind. They politely ignored each other's nightmares.

Hermione didn't comment when Ginny came in late one evening, suspiciously red around the eyes. She didn't even put down _Advanced Potion-Making_ – it wasn't too early to start preparing for a return to Hogwarts, no matter what Ron said – so Ginny took her completely by surprise.

"Can I talk to you for a bit, Hermione?" Her voice was a little gravelly, but she seemed to be holding herself together.

"Yes, of course." Hermione slipped her textbook back into the beaded bag, and pulled herself up so she was sitting with her back to the wall, facing Ginny on the bed. Gwenog Jones waved to her from the poster on the wall, but she pretended not to notice.

"I – " Ginny seemed at a loss for how to continue, and Hermione was suddenly wide awake. People don't usually hesitate when announcing good news. "Promise you won't say anything, to anyone."

Hermione had never told Ginny's secrets, and she wasn't about to start now. It must have shown on her face.

"Sorry, I know you won't, it's just that – " Ginny rushed to say, before cutting herself off again. "It's such a _mess_ , and it'll be even worse if anyone else finds out."

"Well, I'm certainly not going to tell anyone," Hermione said drily, and it seemed to give Ginny the push she needed.

"I think I might be pregnant," she said very quickly and quietly, as if that would make it less real somehow.

" _What_?" Hermione could feel her mouth hanging open. It was not even a month since the battle. Harry and Ginny hadn't let any grass grow under their feet, she reflected distantly. Not like – but that didn't matter now.

"Usually I'm as regular as clockwork, but it's been more than a week now – You don't really need to know the gritty details, do you?" Ginny said with a grin that was more like her pre-war self, and Hermione remembered how much she used to like the youngest Weasley.

"No," she agreed, as she calculated dates and weeks – yes, technically it should be possible to know that you were pregnant within less than a month. It wasn't like she'd ever had to consider it before. Suddenly it rankled that Ginny had got there before she had, had been so confident in her relationship with Harry that they had – had done the deed, when Ron and Hermione didn't even seem to be able to talk to each other without having an argument. Well, there would be time to think about that later.

"Did you – "

"I told Harry tonight," Ginny cut her off, as if she wanted to get it all done with at once. "He didn't exactly take it well."

"You told him – so you know for sure, then?" Hermione asked, cowardly shying away from Harry's reaction for the moment. She'd find out in a few minutes, anyway, whether she wanted to or not.

"No." Ginny looked at her as if she had two heads (not entirely unheard of previously, when both twins had been alive and living at The Burrow). "How could I? The charm doesn't work until after three months."

Pure-blood wizards. Hermione still forgot, sometimes. "Are you telling me Harry didn't know you can get a pregnancy test over the counter? In a Muggle pharmacy," she added, remembering Ron's surprise at the existence of laundrettes. One never quite knew what the wizarding world had decided it could do without.

"He didn't say much. I think he was in shock."

That was hardly surprising.

"Well, you can. I don't know how soon you can find out, but it's a lot earlier than three months." As soon as she'd said it, Hermione realized that she'd be making a late-night trip to Central London. "I'll go now, if you want," she offered – she wouldn't want to wait until the morning, either.

"Would you?" Ginny's face was very pale, and Hermione wondered uneasily what Harry had said. He'd always been much better with action than words. She didn't stop to ask; instead, she got out of her pyjamas and got dressed, before Apparating as quietly as possible.

* * *

 **As usual, this story is complete and I will be updating weekly. As always, reviews and constructive criticism are most welcome.**


	2. Paying the Piper

**Chapter 2**

 **Paying the Piper**

 **-oOo-**

There were still drops of London rain in Hermione's hair as the two girls huddled together over the unfamiliar instructions.

"'Do not spill drops of urine on the display window' – How are you supposed to do that, then?" Ginny rubbed the little plastic contraption experimentally. "No charms on this."

"I think Boots would be in a lot of trouble if they sold magical products to Muggles. I suppose you just have to hold it right..." Hermione was profoundly relieved she wouldn't be required to do the holding.

"Right." Ginny squared her shoulders, suddenly looking much older than the wisp of a girl in too-large pyjamas she'd been a moment ago. "I'm off to the loo, then."

"Good luck," Hermione mumbled, although she wasn't sure what counted as 'good' in this scenario.

She was on the verge of venturing out on the landing to try to make it to the bathroom undetected when Ginny eventually returned, clutching the by now familiar stick of plastic.

"You don't have to tell me – " Hermione started.

"Are you joking? I need you to check it, to make sure I'm not getting mixed up. Here!"

Hermione promised herself a long, leisurely hand wash once the immediate crisis was dealt with. "It's negative," she said after double-checking the instructions twice, trying to keep the relief out of her voice.

Ginny sat down on her bed, as if she'd suddenly lost the use of her legs. "I guess that's it, then."

"Yes," Hermione agreed, her mouth dry and her heart hammering as if she'd been running up the stairs instead of waiting in the bedroom. Despite Ginny's assertion, she didn't think that was it at all. Whatever Harry had said or done when Ginny told him, it obviously hadn't been what she'd been expecting.

"No need for Harry to be concerned if he'd be a good enough father, or if he's ready to have a family yet." And here it came, the words pouring out of Ginny as if she couldn't keep them bottled up anymore. "He can stop worrying about it happening too soon, because it's not going to bloody happen at all!" She banged her fist on the duvet with enough power to make the whole mattress bounce, its ancient springs creaking in protest.

Hermione didn't know what to say to that, but it turned out that she didn't have time to say anything.

"He didn't even propose, can you imagine that?" Ginny continued, and Hermione was slightly taken aback. A shot-gun wedding wouldn't have been her first reaction to a potential pregnancy, either. "What sort of man is he, that he doesn't even offer to step up and – and do his duty!"

This was going to be another of those pure-blood things.

"Is that what normally happens, when someone expects a baby outside of marriage?" Hermione asked as neutrally as she could manage. The pitfalls of getting involved in this mess where abundantly clear to her, but she felt she owed it to Harry to try and explain. He wasn't a Muggle-born, but he may as well have been when it came to the traps the wizarding world sprung on the unweary.

"Yes – or it's what any decent man would do, in any case!" It still wasn't clear if Harry had failed to live up to Ginny's own expectations, or those of the wizarding world. Either was equally likely – anyone with half a brain could figure out there was a large element of Harry as the knight in shining armour riding to the rescue in their relationship. The wizarding world was often at least fifty years behind the Muggles, if it had ever left the Middle Ages at all.

Ginny railed about Harry not being who she'd thought he was, while Hermione reflected that the problem with Ron was the opposite. He was exactly who she thought he was – the problem was that she'd always expected him to change.

* * *

"What are you doing?"

For once, Hermione was being a bit daft. It should be perfectly obvious what Neville was up to; there were only so many things you could do with a spade, a hole and a sapling. Then he noticed that she couldn't see the tiny willow tree from behind. Digging a hole took on a slightly different significance when there were no plants involved. Especially now.

"Planting a tree," he said unnecessarily, as she'd already rounded him and noticed the carefully wrapped willow sapling. "It's not the best time of year for it, but I – I just wanted to do something."

"But why?" Hermione asked, and he remembered her interest in Herbology mostly had been about magic, not the plants themselves. That was all right – not everyone cared as much about plants as Neville did.

"It's for Katie Bell. Angelina told me she used to liked this spot." They were near the lake, in a clearing where the little willow would fit right in with the other, larger trees. Neville could imagine Angelina and Katie laughing and talking here, overlooking the other students at the shore of the lake but remaining half-hidden by the ash and birch foliage.

"I remember, she has – she had a willow wand, I mean," Hermione mumbled. She didn't say anything else. She was just staring at the little plant, like she still wasn't sure what it was doing there.

"I managed to find a cypress at the garden centre in Inverness. For Professor Lupin," he explained, in case Hermione hadn't know what sort of wand their best-ever DADA professor had carried. Neville'd had to ask Professor Sprout to find out. "I planted an acorn for Colin the other day, just outside the Great Hall." He didn't mention the charms he'd laid on it, to make it grow three times as fast as a normal acorn – most people wouldn't be very interested in fecundity charms.

Hermione was still looking at the sapling, and Neville realised he was prattling on a bit. He couldn't seem to stop himself, though. Maybe she thought his little project was stupid. Who cared about trees, anyway, when real people had died? "I asked Professor McGonagall, and she said it was fine." He felt a blush creeping up from his neck.

Neville forgot his red cheeks when Hermione finally raised her tearstained face. "I think it's beautiful," she said, and he felt his shoulders relax. Hermione didn't lie about things like that.

"I haven't figured out what to plant for Snape yet," he admitted and Hermione was so surprised she laughed, despite the tears.

"I don't think a Weeping Willow would cut it, anyway."

She hung around as he finished up, gently patting down the warm, dry earth before splashing it with water from his wand. It was a warm day, as hot as summer got in in Scotland, and he was a little concerned that the willow plant would become dehydrated. He'd come back tomorrow to check on it and give it some more water, unless it rained overnight.

Hermione was quiet as they walked back to the castle together. Normally, Neville would try to make the most of the scant time he got to spend with her, but it didn't seem right to be chatting away. It was nice just to have her company. For all her boundless energy, he'd noticed she could be quite restful to be around, especially since after the war.

Some people were still on edge, and it often got worse when they came to Hogwarts. Quite a few volunteers had to pack it in after just a few days on the rebuilding effort. It was a pity; Neville wished there was something he could do to help them. Every time he arrived at the castle it gave him a jolt to see the gaping holes in the walls and the blackened fragments where the structure of the buildings had been ripped open, but as soon as the initial shock had worn off he found it soothing to be back.

It wasn't just the Room of Requirement he'd got to know over the last year. Hogwarts itself had come to his aid too many times for it to be a coincidence, and he wanted to put it to rights again. Whenever he was near it, he could feel the steady hum of its magic in his bones. That part wasn't broken; it was just the physical bricks and mortars that needed to be repaired. And the wards, of course, but Neville had no idea how to fix them. Fortunately, that wasn't his job; he had enough to do getting the greenhouses in order and planting his trees.

* * *

The Hogwarts library had suffered structural damage in the battle, and no one was allowed inside until the foundations had been made safe again. Presumably that was why Neville found Hermione sitting outside the warded area with a pile of scruffy books by her side a few days after she'd seen him plant the tree for Katie Bell. If you couldn't get into the library, you could at least get as close as possible.

At first he thought she was studying, but as he got closer he saw that what he'd taken for a notebook in her lap was her old beaded bag. Some of the beads were only hanging on by a thread, and the way Hermione was pulling at them absentmindedly didn't help.

Neville had been taking a shortcut from the Apparition spot at the gates to the greenhouses when he saw her and deviated from his path. When he saw the expression on her face he suddenly regretted intruding. His cheerful greeting got struck in his throat, but she didn't seem to notice.

"I've made such a mess of things." It slipped out like she hadn't intended to say anything, and Hermione looked vaguely surprised at herself. It could only do her good to talk, Neville thought, so he sat down next to her without waiting for an invitation.

He noticed the suitcase below the books, then. She must have removed all her things from The Burrow if she'd bothered dragging it here. Neville revised his estimation of the seriousness of the situation another notch upwards.

"I don't know," he said. "You did quite well on the 'Defeating Voldemort' bit, so I think most people would forgive you for not freeing the house-elves yet."

"You know that's not what I'm talking about." Hermione still hadn't looked him in the eyes.

"I think that's the main thing to happen in the past few years, so it's only fair to take it into account when you look at the other stuff."

"OK. It wasn't even me who defeated him, but I got one thing right. Well done, Hermione. I can wreck the rest of my life with a good conscience."

It was a bit difficult to come up with a diplomatic answer to that, but Neville did his best. "I take it you've broken up with Ron, then?"

"Other way around, actually. Not that it matters, really – it was more which one of us who got the words out first."

Neville could easily believe that: Ron and Hermione mightn't have lasted very long as a couple, but they had quarrelling down to a fine art. "I'm sorry." He was, too; he'd give a great many things not to see her so unhappy.

"Thanks, I suppose. Some people would say it was for the best, that it was better coming now than later on..." Hermione's expression suggested she'd already met with the same reaction – Harry, perhaps? No, Neville decided, Harry wouldn't be that stupid. Probably.

"I'm not 'some people'," he said mildly, and won a reluctant smile in return.

"No. You're a great friend, and I shouldn't – shouldn't – " Her face scrunched up and she took a few deep breaths. Neville's hand hovered uncertainly above her shoulders, before she composed herself again. "I just wish my parents were here."

Neville had thought she'd been waiting for Ron, for the Weasleys to get used to missing Fred, but he couldn't think of any reason for her to wait now. "Can't you – I mean, I know Australia is big and you don't know exactly where they are, but... " His idea of Muggle life was a bit hazy, but they seemed to be very keen on recording things like who lived where and what they did for a living.

"I can't go and find them because I don't have any money. The Ministry isn't issuing any International Portkeys yet, so I'd have to fly there." Hermione said in a tight little voice. "So I'm a rubbish daughter, on top of everything else."

"Well, my Gran thinks you're the most capable young woman she's ever met." Neville knew most people wouldn't care much about what his Gran thought, even after she'd killed two Death Eaters at the Battle of Hogwarts, but he thought Hermione might be different.

He was right. She was looking marginally more cheerful by the time he left, and had even volunteered that she'd been staying with Luna for the moment. It strengthened Neville's resolve to sort something out. He didn't even want to start imagining what could happen if Hermione was cooped up with Xenophilius Lovegood for too long.

The greenhouses forgotten, he headed for the Great Hall where Professor McGonagall usually could be found directing the restoration efforts. It was easy to find out where Dean was; it turned out to be more difficult to explain what Neville wanted to do.

"You want to get Hermione a Muggle broom? Or something?" Dean looked at him as if he was completely bonkers, and Neville wished he'd taken Muggle Studies instead of Transfiguration. "Dare I ask why?"

"So she can fly to Australia," Neville explained.

"'Fly', as in Muggle fly?"

"Yes, I think so. There's no Portkeys yet, so she said she'd have to fly." Neville knew Muggles didn't use brooms, but he'd thought that would be the easiest way to explain it. The look of belated understanding on Dean's face suggested he'd done better if he'd started off with the flying instead.

"Ah. It would be an airline ticket you need, then."

"Yes," Neville agreed, although he didn't know with what. "Can you help me get one?"

* * *

Neville had wondered why Hermione hadn't simply asked Harry for a loan. He was pretty sure she wouldn't ask anyone else, but he'd thought Harry would be different. Then he remembered the break-in at the recently reopened Gringotts. They would probably get over it eventually, but goblins had long memories and it certainly wouldn't be yet.

Gringotts being closed hadn't affected Neville much; Gran said you learnt to get your money out of the bank the second time around, and he had his own pile of hidden Galleons left since the war.

Neville and Dean attracted a few curious looks at Gringotts where Neville exchanged his wizarding coins for Muggle notes, but no one accosted them and the goblins didn't even question the transaction. Somehow, Neville doubted that would be the case if Harry turned up.

When they were queuing up to get to the counter in the Muggle shop, surrounded by cardboard cut-outs of impossibly tanned people dressed only in their underwear, it occurred to Neville that Australian wizards, and therefore Australian Muggles, may not use Galleons minted at Gringotts.

"You need traveller cheques," Dean informed him, and Neville tried unsuccessfully to look like he understood what they were talking about. "Hermione will know how to use them, it's not difficult. How much do you need?"

* * *

Hermione looked at the long, narrow airline tickets with their mysterious letter and number combinations like it was a new product from Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. "I can't accept this, Neville. I – "

Neville was prepared for this. "Yes, you can. They're non-refundable, so you have to go or it'll all be wasted."

"But – " She stretched out her hand, almost taking the tickets despite her objections.

"See it as an early birthday present. For the next twenty years or so, mind."

He almost toppled over as Hermione barrelled into him. Her head only reached his chin, but she managed to give him a hug he could feel from his toes to the top of his head anyway. " _Thank_ you!" To his disappointment she disentangled herself a little, so she could look at his face. "I'll pay you back, as soon as I can," she said earnestly.

Neville was slightly relieved she'd offered. Great Uncle Algie had left his whole estate to his only nephew, but he'd been fond of elf-made wine and Muggle cigars so there hadn't been much left by the time he'd died. "It's no rush. You need to collect your parents, that's the important thing. There'll be plenty of time worry about money later."

"Hang on." Hermione was inspecting the tickets. "There are two tickets here!"

Neville blushed slightly. He hoped she didn't think he'd assumed he'd come with her. "I figured you wouldn't want to go on your own – Maybe Harry would come?"

* * *

In the end, Ginny came with her. Hermione wrestled with her conscience for days before she decided Neville was right. It wasn't important who paid for the tickets – what mattered was that her parents were on the other side of the world, not knowing who they really were or how they'd ended up there. Regardless of whether they decided to stay or come back to the UK with her afterwards, she had to undo what she'd done to them.

She'd always imagined Ron would go with her to Australia. Maybe it was for the best he wasn't coming. He wasn't exactly known for his diplomacy. Harry was still too stunned by being alive at the end of the war, never mind owing a debt to Snape that he'd never be able to repay. Ginny was a decent compromise, someone she knew well enough not having to keep up appearances while not being close enough to tell her what to do.

Ron and Hermione breaking up seemed to make Harry and Ginny less eager to row, but Ginny didn't seem to have any qualms leaving Harry on his own to figure what to do now that he had a future. Once she'd thought about it, Hermione agreed. It wasn't something other people could figure out for you.

Her parents looking at her like she was a stranger was hard, but seeing the fear in their eyes once she had restored their memories was worse. There weren't many recriminations; what she'd done wasn't going to be resolved with a telling-off.

Hermione knew it wasn't going to go down well, but she had to say it. "I would do it again, if I had to choose all over again. I'd rather you were safe and sound and _alive_ , no matter what you think about me."

They were getting bogged down into the same argument they'd had that day. That long, hot summer afternoon – the last day in her childhood home – they'd been at loggerheads, each unable to see the other's viewpoint.

This time Ginny was there; maybe that's what made the difference. "But they would have found you," she interrupted Hermione's father's ramblings on how they would have gone into hiding. "They found my Muggle cousin, and he was much better hidden than you would have been."

"Since when do you have a Muggle cousin?" Hermione asked, momentarily diverted from the matter at stake.

"Did Ron never tell you we've got a cousin who's an accountant? I know Mum doesn't like talking about it, but Ron usually can't keep his big mouth shut..."

Hermione remembered now; she wondered what had happened to the Muggle Weasley, but decided not to ask.

"So they would have come for you," Ginny continued. "If you'd stayed in England, you would not have been here today. The Order of the Phoenix could barely keep the Dursleys alive, they couldn't look after more people than they did." The matter-of-fact certainty of her tone seemed to finally convince Alan and Jacqueline Granger when nothing their daughter had said had worked.

"Why didn't you tell us it was so – so serious? If you had just explained..."

Hermione remembered how she'd tried and tried to convince them, how the argument had raged in the stifling heat of their living room back in Wessex. She'd been afraid and angry at the situation, and in the end they'd point-blank refused to believe her. It was different now; she'd had the benefit of time to think, and she liked to believe she'd done a bit of growing up in the last year.

"I'm not sure I could have explained. I'd spent years trying to make things in the wizarding world appear less serious than they were, so it's hardly surprising you didn't believe me." It hadn't been lies, mostly – she'd just refrained from telling them about dragons and Death Eaters, Voldemort possessing people and Harry narrowly escaping death yet again. The events at Hogwarts had been so far removed from her parents' frame of reference that it never occurred to them to be suspicious.

Dumbledore had helped, too – he'd done a great job of minimising what happened when Hermione had been petrified by the Basilisk. For the first time, she wondered if it had been because she'd been useful to Harry; if Dumbledore had foreseen that Harry would need help from his friends to defeat Voldemort. There was no time to think about that now – her mother was demanding to know what else Hermione hadn't told them during her years at Hogwarts.

Hermione meticulously filled in the gaps between exams and holidays with escaped convicts and rabid Ministry envoys. Ginny reminded her when she forgot the details.

When Hermione had finished, her mother's reaction took her by surprise. "And your teachers were aware of all this?"

"Not _all_ ," Hermione objected on behalf of her younger self – they hadn't been as good at keeping secrets as they'd thought, but it hadn't been that obvious. "I think Dumbledore knew most of it, and probably Professor McGonagall too, but not the others."

"Your headmaster and your Head of House certainly knew, then. Yet, they didn't deem it fit to inform your parents us that you were regularly put at risk as a consequence of their consistent failing to keep you safe."

That was one way of putting it. "They had bigger things to worry about," Hermione pointed out, in the interest of fairness.

"So they made you worry about them as well. It shouldn't have been your secret to keep, anyone working with children should have seen that."

They left it there for the day; even Ginny was starting to wilt, and Hermione was too tired to feel either dejected or hopeful. Her parents may forgive her, or they may not – right now there was very little she could do about it. Getting a good night's sleep wouldn't make things worse, anyway.

Hermione had booked a room in the cheapest hotel she'd been able to find in Sorrento, the little town outside Melbourne where they'd finally located Wendell and Monica Wilkins. It had been quite expensive, and for the umpteenth time she felt grateful beyond measure for Neville's thoughtfulness. There were still quite a few traveller's cheques left, despite the days they'd spent in Sydney scourging the phone books at the city library.

"I might go out for a walk, if you don't mind," Ginny said when they'd decided that Hermione would get the bed by the window.

"What? No, I don't mind," Hermione said absently. She would hardly have noticed if Ginny had unpacked a dragon from her suitcase.


	3. The Truth, At Last

**Chapter 3**

 **The Truth, At Last**

 **-oOo-**

The Grangers invited them over for breakfast, which was fortunate since Hermione decided that the hotel breakfast was too pricey when she was booking the hotel. Food had been the least of her concerns.

It was a little tense at first – no one seemed keen on bringing up the war, but the subject hung over them like thunderclouds gathering on a hot summer's day. Coffee was distributed, tea brewed and toast handed out with porridge and freshly baked scones while Jacqueline and Ginny politely discussed the seashore. Ginny had gone down to the beach last night, apparently, and Hermione was grateful that at least one of them had managed to do something before crashing into bed.

They made it to the second cup of tea before any discordant notes were struck.

"What's that?" Alan Granger asked sharply when Hermione stretched her hand out for the sugar. For a second she thought he was commenting on her table manners, before she noticed the horror-struck expression on her mother's face. She looked down and noticed the tip of the already-healed scar from Bellatrix Lestrange's sharp little knife, revealed when the sleeve of her top had slid up.

"Oh," she said, dumbfounded. To her bewilderment, Hermione felt heat rising to her cheeks. It was stupid to be embarrassed, but she couldn't help herself. "It's... nothing."

"Would this be the same kind of 'nothing' that happened at the Department of Mysteries?" her mother asked crisply and Hermione remembered she still had scars from that, too.

"It was quite similar, actually. Although that time it was Dolohov." Her fingers traced her old scar, beneath her top, off their own accord. "This one is courtesy of Bellatrix Lestrange," she added when it became clear that more information was expected.

"She's dead now," Ginny added with satisfaction. The Grangers didn't ask who had killed her. Despite all the things that had been said yesterday, Hermione thought her parents still couldn't quite believe that either of the teenage girls sitting in front of them gladly would have killed the witch, that the only thing stopping them was not quite being good enough to get in a fatal hit.

"It was at Malfoy Manor," Hermione added when it became clear she was expected to say something. "Remember I told you we'd been captured? She cut me just before we got out, thanks to Dobby."

"But why?" her father asked, and it suddenly got too much for Hermione.

"Why not? I was the Mudblood, they wanted information, and we were in a war. That's what people do in wars – they murder and torture and – and steal." She changed what she'd been going to say at the last minute, having no desire to open that particular can of worms in front of her parents. "There was nothing and no one there to stop them. They were Death Eaters, not the bloody Salvation Army!"

She'd never sworn in front of her parents before. For a second she felt ashamed as she looked at their dazed expressions, before she realised that they'd hardly made it through six decades before hearing the word 'bloody'. They'd met Ron several times, for starters.

"It was a war," Hermione said more calmly. "It didn't have generals and soldiers – at least not officially – and the general population didn't know about it, but it was a bona fide war on British soil. I wish you'd never been caught up in it, but I can't regret my part. It was – " She thought of lonely nights on watch and the creeping malevolence of the Horcrux, of seconds stretching to hours under the Cruciatus, of the cold horror of seeing Harry's lifeless body and knowing all was lost. "It was something I had to do," she said finally. "And now it's over." And so was her relationship with Ron, and her childhood, and maybe her relationship with her parents, too.

Ginny seemed to think this was the opportune moment to leave the Grangers alone. "I'll go and have a look at the seafront in daylight," she announced, slipping out of her seat and making her own way to the front door without anyone else stirring.

"Oh, _Hermione_ ," Jacqueline said eventually, somewhere halfway between a sob and a reproach, and suddenly Hermione found herself being hugged so tightly she almost couldn't breathe.

* * *

Again, Hermione was worn out when she came back to the hotel, but it was a different kind of tiredness. It reminded her of the days just after the battle – it was fatigue mingled with relief, as you understood it finally was over. It wasn't really, of course, but they'd got through the hardest bit.

She hummed some Muggle song tunelessly as she packed their bags. They'd been invited to come and stay with her parents, and she wasn't going to turn down the proffered olive branch, nor the chance to save a little of Neville's money. Ginny burst through the door in customary Weasley fashion – Percy seemed to be the only one of them capable of opening a door without sounding like a herd of Thestrals coming through – and took in the situation in one quick glance.

"I'll get my stuff." She didn't comment or ask any questions, for which Hermione was grateful. It didn't occur to her to wonder why Ginny had been coming back at eight PM – presumably she'd been tired, too – until a tall, blond, tanned guy in his twenties approached them as they came out of the hotel.

"Uh, Ginny?" he said.

"Hi," Ginny replied. "Sorry to keep you waiting." She didn't sound very sorry. "Kevin, this is my friend He – Helena." Ginny and Hermione was a bit too distinctive a combination, Hermione agreed with that. She wasn't sure if she approved of Kevin, but politely shook hands with him anyway. He didn't exactly seem to be an intellectual, but even Hermione had to admit he looked much better in a pair of shorts than Harry ever would.

She didn't say anything, not even when Ginny disappeared every morning for the rest of their stay to go surfing with Kevin. Fortunately, he attributed her lack of knowledge about the Muggle world to her being English, so the Statute of Secrecy wasn't at risk. Hermione knew better than getting involved in whatever was happening between Harry and Ginny, but she was quite relieved when it was time to go back home.

* * *

Neville patted the little mound of earth surrounding the rowan sapling he'd found in the Forbidden Forest. He'd dug it up carefully and moved it to near the front lawn. It had been squeezed in under a large fir tree before, but now he could almost see it stretching up towards the sunlight. In a few years, it might bloom in the spring and spread its heady fragrance across the lawn.

Lavender would have liked that.

She'd died just a few metres from here, after some of the Healers from St. Mungo's who'd arrived with the reinforcements had dragged her away from the fighting. At least Lavender had died in the fresh air, away from the screaming and cursing and fury of the battle.

Absentmindedly Neville used his wand to water the roots, happy with the morning's work.

While he'd been digging the hole and coaxing the sprawling network of roots to slide in he'd been remembering his classmate, thinking about how she'd joined the DA both times. She'd never stopped doing the things she cared about, like checking her tea leaves every morning and making her hair look nice, not even when things had been at their direst just before Harry, Ron and Hermione had shown up and kicked off the battle of Hogwarts.

She'd been brave, Lavender, and she hadn't been less brave because she'd held on to the things that had made her herself. Still, he was grateful she hadn't died alone, and that it had happened when it had looked as if they were winning.

Neville still couldn't think of anything that would suit Snape. What did you plant for a traitor turned good? A thistle didn't seem like a bad choice: spiky and off-putting on the inside, but with lots of helpful properties once you put it in a potion. Only a thistle didn't seem grand enough for someone who had saved them all, and Neville was quite sure Snape wouldn't have appreciated being allocated the symbol for Scotland either.

Neville put off what to do with Snape for the time being. There were plenty of others. Next week, he'd plant a pine tree for Dumbledore. Some people might thing an oak would be more suitable, but as soon as Neville had thought of it, he'd known it was the right thing. Pine trees towered above other trees, mighty and undaunted by storms. They bent, but they didn't break – they had roots that went straight down into the earth, anchoring them to the soil.

Dumbledore had never wavered, either, not even when everything had looked hopeless. Neville would like to think he'd know, somehow, that his beloved Hogwarts had survived and was being put to rights again.

* * *

Grimmauld Place was empty. Not even Kreacher could be found. Hermione lingered uncertainly in the cavernous kitchen, still feeling the heat from the gigantic cooker. Someone had been here recently, but where had they gone?

It was funny how Grimmauld had lost its menacing aura and become just a house. Well, not just a house: some time between the holidays she'd spent here when it had been the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix and her departure with Harry and Ron to retrieve the locket from the Ministry of Magic, it had become her home, or one of them at least.

And now it was Harry's home. The only question was where he was – it wasn't like him to invite her to come over and just forget about it. Hermione snagged a biscuit from the tin next to the cooker when the logical solution occurred to her.

It only took a minute before Harry's stag appeared together with her otter. "On the roof," it said with Harry's voice.

Hermione was slightly out of breath by the time she'd climbed to the top of the ladder she'd found on the last flight of stairs. She'd never suspected there was anything above the attic, but hidden away among chimneys and slated roof panels there was a little terrace, where Harry had put two decidedly Muggle sun chairs with a crate of beer between them.

"Sorry, Hermione. I only found this place the other day when I was trying to fix the leak in my bedroom, otherwise I would have told you in advance."

"It's OK. Please tell me you have something other than Muggle beer to drink, though."

"Look." Harry pointed to the crate and she discovered that half of it was full of Butterbeer, presumably for her benefit since Harry already had an empty bottle of Heineken next to him, in addition to the half-full one in his hand.

"Thanks." Hermione used her wand to open a bottle, but decided against conjuring a glass. She could relax and go with the flow, no matter what Ron may believe.

The flavour of the ice-cold Butterbeer was smooth and almost, but not quite, too sweet. It tasted of days out in Hogsmeade and of celebrations in the Gryffindor common room. For a moment Hermione wished for simpler times, before they'd been branded as adults by scars and nightmares. Then she remembered that Harry had always had his scar, that he'd lived with Voldemort's shadow for as long as he could remember, even though he hadn't known the details at the time.

Now was better. Now was good, sitting with her friend watching the soft evening light turn the roofs and chimneys of London into a magical world of their own. They may have scars, but they had the rest of their lives to figure out how to live with them.

"Ginny broke up with me," Harry said, and suddenly the comfortable silence was blown into smithereens.

"I didn't know," Hermione replied. "She didn't tell me." Ginny had gone home from Australia after a week, leaving Hermione and her parents to get used to each other again. Hermione had only come back to Britain today, and gone straight to Grimmauld Place from the airport. This was the first time she'd seen Harry for a month. "Are you – How are you feeling about it?" He sounded like he was fine, but you never knew with Harry.

"I'm – surprised, I suppose. Not that she broke up with me, but that this whole future I'd imagined is gone." He looked thoughtful rather than upset, sitting there with his glasses slightly askew and an almost empty beer bottle dangling from his hand. "I always thought we'd end up together, have a bunch of kids and go to The Burrow every week for Sunday lunch, but now it won't happen."

"It might still end up like that, you never know." Hermione's view of the future a few decades down the line had been remarkably similar only a month or two ago.

"No, I don't think so. I never imagined how we'd get from here – " Harry gesticulated at the rose-tinged panorama of roofs and the occasional church tower before them, but Hermione correctly interpreted it to mean their current, somewhat chaotic post-war lives, " – to there. And that's really what it's all about, isn't it – your life together? Not the movie-trailer version with the highlights."

Hermione snorted. Sometimes Muggle things really couldn't be translated to the wizarding world. He was right, though. "You seem to have spent a lot of time thinking about it."

"I couldn't figure out why I wasn't more upset, at first. I think it was just too much to deal with at once. Somehow Ginny became the proof I had a future beyond Voldemort, and that wasn't really fair to her. It's hard to be in love with an idea, rather than a real person."

Hermione wondered exactly when Harry had become comfortable talking about love, never mind patiently disentangling his feelings. Was it almost dying that had changed him so much, or was it simply growing up? Perhaps there was hope for Ron.

As if he were privy to her thoughts, Harry asked, "How about you and Ron? Are you OK?"

"No, we're not OK. But we will be." Hermione didn't know how she knew, but she did. The knowledge settled deep in her bones, along with her new understanding of Harry.

"And your parents?" Harry took a long swallow from his bottle.

"They weren't exactly happy with being uprooted and sent to Australia, to say the least. But they'll be OK, too."

They watched the sun go down together, drinking as the edge of the sky turned red. Slowly, all the colours of the sunset deepened to a dusky blue, with the occasional star visible despite the streetlights.

* * *

 **Just one chapter left...**


	4. The Shape Of Things To Come

**Chapter 4**

 **The Shape Of Things To Come**

 **-oOo-**

"Hello? Neville?"

"Hermione! How are you?" Neville's head appeared bearing a wide smile, and Hermione relaxed a little. Floo-ing into someone's home always felt a little intrusive to her, compared to a Muggle phone call, and she'd never used it to contact Neville when he'd been with his grandmother before.

"Fine. Everything is fine," she hurried to add, in case he thought anything was amiss. "Is now a good time to call over? Or would you rather... " She pointed to the fireplace in Grimmauld Place where she was kneeling, before realising Neville could only see her head.

"Please come through. Now's a great time, I just made some tea," he said, and Hermione tucked her elbows in before the green flames submerged her.

Sending a Patronus had seemed a little excessive for an everyday conversation, and she didn't really know what to put in a letter. Not having seen Neville for a few days didn't seem sufficient reason to write to him, but she didn't have anything else to say. She'd been hoping seeing each other face to face would be easier – they always seemed to have something to talk about when they met.

Stumbling out of the fireplace on the other side, she was taken aback to find Neville already had company. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you had company – " she started, but Neville waved her apologies away as he Conjured a third teacup.

"Not at all, take a seat. Have you met Corisande?"

The other witch returned Hermione's suspicious stare with interest. Even though she was sitting down, Hermione could tell she was at least a few inches taller, with a willowy figure to go with it. Her perfectly straight blond hair skimmed past her shoulders, and even Hermione could tell her robes only had the name in common with the standard Hogwarts school robes Hermione was wearing.

"No, I don't think I have," Hermione said as pleasantly as she was able. "I'm Hermione Granger, an old friend of Neville's."

"Oh, you don't have to tell me who you are!" the girl said with a tinkling laugh that grated on Hermione's ears. "Everyone knows who Harry Potter's best friend is!"

"Yes, Ron Weasley," Hermione muttered, remembering recent coverage in the _Daily Prophet_. Harry's refusal to pick a side in their breakup hadn't gone down well with the press. Rita Skeeter didn't work there anymore, but she seemed to have left her brand of journalism behind, and they'd cheerfully resorted to making something up when Harry had refused to comment.

"Corisande is Humphrey's daughter – Humphrey Macmillan, my Gran's godson," Neville explained hurriedly. "I think he's Ernie's uncle."

"We're only second cousins, actually," Corisande clarified with a smile directed solely towards Neville. Hermione may as well have been in the next county.

"How nice. I don't remember you from Hogwarts – were you a few years below us?" Hermione asked, as neutrally as she could.

"Only one, actually. My parents took me out in fifth year, what with everything going on..."

Hermione itched to finish her sentence for her, adding that not everyone had had the option to bow out and let others fight the war for them. She knew it would be an unfair thing to say – no sixteen-year-old should have to face up to Voldemort – but that didn't stop her from thinking it.

"Of course," she said instead, with a smile she hoped looked sincere for Neville's sake.

Neville had to ask how Corisande wanted her tea, while dropping two sugars into Hermione's together with a dollop of milk without having to ask. She found it slightly easier to be pleasant to Corisande after that, although the endless giggling got on her last nerve before the girl finally announced her departure.

"I'll be over to see you soon again, though," she said as she leaned over to kiss Neville's cheek. "As much as I love her, I wouldn't last a week coped up with Aunt Augusta. You must be really bored."

Hermione was surprised her disdain didn't burn a hole through Corisande's fashionable robes. After the year they'd had, boredom was the last thing Neville was likely to complain about.

"Lovely to meet you," she said insincerely, and heard the loud 'pop' of Corisande Disapparating with tremendous relief. It didn't last long. She happened to look at Neville as he poured them a third cup of tea, in the middle of a discussion on the healing properties of magnolia, and couldn't believe she hadn't noticed before.

Sometime between Voldemort's reappearance and his ultimate defeat, Neville's round cheeks had hollowed out and he'd grown into his face. He was tall and broad-shouldered, a man in appearance as well as his actions, and Hermione realised he was... quite attractive, actually.

Coupled with the reputation of a hero and impeccable pure-blood credentials, she had no problem finding Corisande's motive for rekindling her acquaintance with Neville. Corisande had a head start, being a family friend – no doubt others, especially from families eager to re-establish themselves after the war, would follow her.

Hermione suddenly found her perfectly nice tea hard to swallow.

It made her so angry, thinking of someone treating Neville as a stepping-stone for something else. He might be a – an eligible bachelor (she blushed slightly at the term), but there was so much more to him than that. Neville was the kindest, most loyal person she'd ever met, and one of the bravest, too. There wasn't a scrap of bitterness in him despite everything he had gone through, and Hermione knew she wouldn't have been half as able to bear what he'd had to endure. Losing her parents for less than a year had been bad enough.

Neville deserved so much more than Corisande, whose dress sense vastly exceeded her intellectual capacity. He should be with someone who could appreciate him for who he was and not just for his ability to generate the right headlines in the _Daily Prophet_.

Someone like... Ginny. Who now was free and footloose, and one of Neville's best friends. Half of the Gryffindor boys had been in love with Ginny at some stage, and it wasn't just because of her pretty face.

After the battle, Hermione realized she hadn't been terribly surprised to see Mrs Weasley bring down Bellatrix Lestrange. Ginny and her mother shared the same relentlessness, the ability to knuckle down and get the job done that still eluded Ron. There was substance to Ginny, a strength of character that drew people in which also allowed her to see the true value of someone like Neville, who was all too easy to overlook until he chopped the head off a Voldemort's favourite pet.

It was none of Hermione's business if Ginny suddenly realized she'd be better off with a less hot-heated Gryffindor than Harry, but still the possibility made her so distracted Neville had to ask her three times if she wanted another biscuit.

It took another half-hour of conversation about the state of the Hogwarts renovations before she'd regained her composure, but towards the end of the visit Hermione was able to enjoy Neville's company again.

Mrs Longbottom didn't make an appearance, for which she was both grateful and disappointed. The old witch had very sharp eyes indeed, and a sharp tongue – a dangerous but interesting combination. It was only recently it had dawned on Hermione that Neville was much more observant than people thought, although he was much more likely to put a charitable interpretation on what he noticed than his formidable grandmother.

She wondered what else she might discover about him; there was much more to Neville than she'd ever realised.

* * *

It was hot in London, and despite Hermione's cooling charms the third floor in Grimmauld Place was suffocating.

Harry and Kreacher had finally got the house ready for the official housewarming party; it hadn't been a particularly grand affair, but it was a pleasant change to find the house milling with people. Loud, happy voices had replaced the malevolent silence of times past, and Ron and Hermione had even managed a polite nod as they'd passed each other on the landings. Ron had stumbled out with his brothers to get the Knight Bus to The Burrow eventually, but Hermione and a few others had stayed the night.

Twisting and turning between sweaty sheets, Hermione was grateful she'd cleared out an extra room so she didn't have to share with Luna. The only thing worse than insomnia was having to pretend to be asleep in order not to disturb someone else. If only Harry had put some flower pots on his roof terrace. She could have made some Sleeping Draught if only she'd had some lavender and valerian, but potions ingredients didn't grow on trees...

* * *

"Neville! Neville, wake up!" When Neville started groping around under his pillow for his wand Hermione realised she probably should have knocked before bursting into his bedroom. Perhaps it could have waited until morning...

"What?" Neville sounded a bit groggy, but at least he wasn't pointing his wand at her. He peered at her through bleary eyes in the faint light of her wand, a tuft of hair sticking straight out right behind his left ear. "Is something wrong?" He suddenly sounded a lot more awake.

"No, no," Hermione hastened to reassure him, glad there wasn't enough light to see her blushing. "I – I just thought of the perfect thing for Professor Snape, and I wanted to let you know straight away..."

Thankfully, Neville didn't seem to think it was ridiculous. "Really? What is it?"

"A meadow. With poppies and wormwood and starthistle and nettles..." She had no doubt Neville would be able to add a dozen species to her hastily composed list.

"Knotgrass would grow at Hogwarts," Neville thought out loud. "Hermione, I've think you've done it! He might actually even have _liked_ it if he'd been alive to see it." There was wonder in his voice.

As much as she hated pouring cold water on her own idea, Hermione couldn't let him go that far. "I'm still the Know-It-All, remember? He would have hated it on principle because I suggested it."

"Even so it's genius, Hermione – I should have known you'd come up with something!"

The admiration in his voice made her blush again, and she suddenly became aware that she was sitting on the edge of his bed in the middle of the night, with her hair in a sweaty mess and dressed only in her old Snoopy nightdress. Neville didn't seem to have bothered with a pyjama top, maybe not the bottoms either. She'd told him her idea now; she should get out before things got even more embarrassing.

"I should go back to bed – " she said, but Neville caught her hand in his before she could rise. The grip of his palm was firm and warm and surprisingly not a bit comforting. The thought that it wasn't comfort she wanted from Neville fizzled through her overwrought head like a flash of lightning.

"Or you could stay," he suggested, and only someone who knew him very well would have noticed how nervous he was beneath the calm surface. It was the pretence that caught Hermione short; if Neville cared that much whether she stayed, it put a different complexion on a lot of things.

She wouldn't have been Hermione if she hadn't asked questions, though. "Just for the night?"

"For as long as you like. I'd prefer if it were longer, though – I'm not a fly-by-night sort of guy."

"No, you're not," Hermione agreed with a smile that must have revealed a bit more than she'd intended if Neville's blush was anything to go by. Damn. He must have noticed more than she'd thought earlier.

"I mean, we don't have to decide the rest of our lives now," he hastened to add, and Hermione heartily agreed. She'd had enough of that sort of relationship.

"We'll work it out as we go along," she said to herself as much as to Neville, and surprised herself by climbing into his bed without further ado. "Just to sleep," she clarified, and he nodded enthusiastically, making room for her on the creaky bed the Blacks had considered suitable for the third best guest room.

It was strange lying in Neville's arms – lying in anyone's arms – but after some initial wiggling (during which she discovered that Neville was wearing some sort of pyjama bottoms, to her everlasting relief) it was surprisingly comfortable. It was also exhilarating, in a way that had nothing do to with riding dragons and escaping death with a whisker. Maybe this was what excitement should be like when you were a teenager, she thought before the soft nuzzling of his breath in her hair got too distracting.

"I've wanted to do this for ages," he told her. "Always wondered what it would smell like."

Bollocks. Did she wash her hair last night? Getting hot water at Grimmauld Place was a bit of an ordeal, and Hermione was still trying to remember if she'd got Kreacher to fire up the ancient boiler when Neville spoke again.

"It smells lovely."

She should have remembered he wasn't Ron.

They laid there in silence, listening to all the little noises of Grimmauld Place settling down for the night. Even the heat wasn't enough to disturb the sense of contentment wrapping itself around them. Hermione was vaguely aware that she should worry about a dozen different contingencies covering anything from Ron's reaction to what rubbish the _Daily Prophet_ may write this time, but she just couldn't make herself care.

Maybe you couldn't solve all problems at once. Maybe it was enough if you started from the right place and figured it out from there.

She angled her head downwards to find Neville's heartbeat. The soft, steady sound softly lulled her to sleep, and she was only vaguely aware of Neville's breathing getting slower and deeper.

For now, all was well.

 **THE END**

* * *

 ** **That's it - thanks for sticking with the story until the end! Reviews are most appreciated and any constructive criticism is very welcome. Anything you want to share will help me write a better story the next time.** **


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